Knots
by aviatrix
Summary: Ginny doesn't get why Ron's so hung up over Hermoine, and decides to find out for herself.


AUTHOR: Aviatrix  
  
TITLE: Knots  
  
PAIRINGS: Ginny/Hermione, Ginny/Ron, Ron/Hermione  
  
SUMMARY: Ginny doesn't get why Ron's so hung up over Hermoine, and decides to find out for herself.  
  
RATING: PG-13-ish  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, Rowling's. Don't sue  
  
A/N: inspired by R.D. Laing's book of poetry entitled, yes, Knots.  
  
x  
  
Hermione plays the violin in angry squawking tones, her face scrunched in frustration over the fact that, no matter how many times she reads it, her instruction book hasn't taught her how to play. She should know what a violin sounds like. They're in romance novels and history books, biographies and manuals. Smooth notes. Flowing notes. Round, warm, deep notes. That's what a violin is supposed to sound like. Not this cringing screech that spikes through the walls of the Burrow, making Ginny's head hurt with the awfulness of it all.  
  
Ginny can't, for the life of her, figure out why this girl makes Ron all mumbly and red-faced. Her hair's too curly. Her face is a compilation of features that might look good on their own, but all sort of jumble together in a mash of eyebrows and lips. She's got nothing in her head but borrowed information, words and facts that she puts on display with pride in her eyes. She's nothing, nothing.  
  
And Ginny can't help but think, why? What's she got that I haven't?  
  
x  
  
When Ginny was eight, she decided that she was going to marry Ron when she grew up. It seemed the right thing to do; after all, who better to spend your life with than someone you were already so close to? And they got along so well, most of the time.  
  
She mentioned this to Ron one day, and was more than a little confused when his eyes went wide and he said, "No, no, you can't marry me. I'm your brother. Brothers don't marry sisters."  
  
That didn't make any sense at all to Ginny.  
  
"Look, that's how things work, okay? That's how things are. Don't - don't cry, please. It's just - " Ron took out a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it at Ginny. She took it and blew her nose loudly.  
  
And, of course, that's how things work. Of course brothers don't marry sisters. Brothers don't marry brothers, either, except Fred and George, who seem so much alike that Ginny doesn't think it would really matter if they did. More importantly, brothers don't fall in love with sisters, and sisters don't fall in love with brothers, not in *that way*, so obviously what Ginny feels for Ron is something else entirely.  
  
By the time she was thirteen, she was almost completely certain she didn't want to marry Ron anymore.  
  
x  
  
Ron's kissed Hermione. A lot, probably. Ginny still doesn't get it. Maybe girls look differently to boys than they do to other girls. Maybe Ron's just got a kink for snobby curly-haired bookworms, Ginny thinks. Maybe he's happy he's found someone who could never be mistaken for a Weasley.  
  
x  
  
Ginny watched Hermione the whole summer. By the end, she knew exactly how Hermione held a pencil, the faces she made when she was reading or writing, the way she sat with her legs folded under her.  
  
And, one night, when she walked in on Hermione reading in that odd secluded personal-experience way she had, Ginny knew what it would take for her to understand. Maybe.  
  
So she walked up to Hermione, grabbed the book out of her hands, and, through indignation and hands fumbling, she kissed her. Hermione was surprised, Ginny could tell. Not pulling away in disgust, though, Ginny noted with satisfaction. She opened her mouth, coaxing in a tongue that usually said something pseudo-intellectual or tangled itself around Ron's. She pulled away with a wet popping noise, straightened up, and sighed perfunctorily.  
  
She sat down in the chair opposite, and added to her mental catalogue of Things of Note About Hermione:  
  
Uses cherry lipgloss. Smells like dust and book-acid and hair conditioner. Soft. Warm. Clothes machine-made. Definitely not a Weasley.  
  
Across from her, Hermoine slowly edged her breathing down to normal. When she realized Ginny wasn't saying anything, she decided that, yes, that's the thing to do, and didn't say anything herself. She picked up her book from the floor and resumed reading.  
  
x  
  
"What the..." Ron's mouth moved soundlessly for a few seconds. "Why?"  
  
Ginny looked directly into his eyes, unblinking. "I wanted to know why you wanted her. I wanted to know what the point of her was."  
  
"And?"  
  
She smiled shyly. "I think I get it now."  
  
x  
  
Ginny's started listening to Hermione practice. Really listening, sitting in a chair next to the music stand, not the entirely unplanned and uninvited listening she did before. She doesn't pay attention, doesn't watch Hermione because she's improved any. She still can't play, can't make the instrument sympathetic to her hands. But now that Ginny's kinda figured her out, figured out the right angle to get all her facial features in alignment, translated the tiny coded words on narrowly lined pages of the notebook she carries around with her, and understood the peculiar Whatever that is Hermione, she likes her. She presses her fingers to her lips sometimes, trying to remember the exact pressure and suction of Hermione's mouth, the smell of her lipgloss.  
  
Ginny thinks she should switch to piano. She tells Hermione that, who looks startled, then grins and says, "Yeah, you're probably right." They both laugh, a little nervously.  
  
That night, Hermione knocks on Ginny's door, softly but still businesslike, and when they kiss, Ginny's hardly thinking about Ron at all. 


End file.
